


You Were Mine

by Anonymous



Series: Like Absinthe [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, NaNoWriMo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-07
Updated: 2012-11-07
Packaged: 2017-11-18 03:59:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/556658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor liked the name of the bar Ice and Fire, and the Avengers ended up partying there. Tony's just nervous about facing Luke after that night two months ago—but will he even have to?</p><hr/>
            </blockquote>





	You Were Mine

**Author's Note:**

> This is the requested second part where Tony goes to seek Luke only to find him gone. Brace yourselves!
> 
> * * *

It was by complete chance that Tony came to stand in Ice and Fire again, about three months after he had left the establishment with an alarmingly handsome man. (Coincidentally, he hadn't seen said man in that time also, but, to be honest, most times he didn't see his one-night stands again if he could help it.) He was there because Thor had liked the name—said it reminded him of Asgardian creation myth or something—and the rest of the Avengers had decided that Ice and Fire was  _the_  spot to take their gathering to.

So here he was, nursing a drink in a booth and not knowing whether to keep an eye out for Luke or hide from him, while Natasha chatted amiably with Bruce on his right and Clint tried to convince Steve to try the daiquiris in the side opposite them. Thor was with Jane... somewhere. Probably being scandalized and a little turned on by what passed for dancing on good ol' Earth, Tony thought, smiling.

A victorious crow drew him from his musings.

"Listen everyone," said Clint, loud enough to deafen Tony even over the din of the place, "Cap here has decided to try the daiquiris!" He looked damn proud of himself and looked at them encouragingly, as though he was expecting a thunderous applause.

Tony was game, of course. He clapped slowly, grinning, and elbowed Bruce by his side to invite him to join. He did, and Natasha followed impassively, looking a bit confused—going by the slight tilt of her head—about what was going on but being her awesome self all the same.

The applause died down and they looked at each other, all wondering the same thing: who would be the one to get them drinks?

"So, rock-paper-scissors?" Tony proposed, grinning.

Bruce and Steve immediately complained. "Natasha is a  _ninja_ —","—but Clint's eyesight!" and decided they should draw lots to make everything fair. Naturally, Murphy's laws being what they were, the one who had been avoiding the bar all evening long and would have happily continued to avoid it, drew the short straw: Tony.

He made a point to stand readily, conceding defeat honorably or some crap, though he kinda wanted to bully Steve into going. What? It would do him some good, to go and order alcohol for himself. (Tony conveniently forgot all the wartime stories Cap had told them, including those of drinking wildly during rests with squad.)

Anyway. Tony up-ended what was left of his drink into his stomach. There was a saying about fortifying drinks he didn't recall, but he was trying to get as drunk as possible before having to face Luke. Ergh, just  _thinking_  his name made his heart skip a beat. Since that night, three months ago, when he has surrendered himself to pleasure in Luke's arms—and boy, didn't the flashbacks make him shiver—he had tried sex with other men found it...  _lacking_. Leaving clichés aside, it really seemed only Luke would satisfy him – and didn't  _that_  make him feel like the heroine of an erotic novel, complete with heaving bosoms and tight corsets?

Pasting on his most seductive smile and adding some swagger into his step, he approached the bar. By the time he reached it he had mysteriously gained two phone numbers, which he put in his wallet when he opened it to get money out. ' _Heh. Still got it,_ ' he congratulated himself as he waded through the mass of people vying for the attention of the bartender – wow, the bar sure had risen in popularity since the last time he'd been here!

He looked around for Luke, but the two bartenders in sight were not him. Hm. He waved two bens in the face of the bartender closest to him, a girl. He could practically see dollar signs in her eyes when she spotted him.

"Yo," she greeted, tucking a lock of pink hair behind her heavily pierced ear, "what can I get you?"

Now he was in his element. Why had he been so nervous? "Daiquiris, lots of them—at least ten, banana, strawberry, I don't care—and your phone number," he winked winsomely.

The girl smiled sarcastically at him. With a raised eyebrow and everything! Ouch. "Sorry, my girlfriend might object to that," she deadpanned, finding the rum and assorted fruit.

Oh, well, that explained things. "How about you give me hers, then, so I can ask her permission?" he said, managing to stay serious for all of two seconds, before bending over laughing.

At least he managed to make her grin and shake her head, amused, which was more than any of the losers around him could claim. He waited patiently, humming whatever song was playing and flirting with everyone within hearing distance—it wasn't saying much, though, seeing how the music was kinda loud and drowned out most of the conversation—as the girl made him the drinks.

He decided he wasn't going to be able to actually take the daiquiris back by himself—yeah, his foresight when tipsy? Not so good—and texted Steve to come help him get them to the table. By the time Steve reached him, shaking his head affectionately, the daiquiris were about done. The chick put them on two trays and everything for them to carry and winked at Tony as she slid the money from his hand.

"Keep the change," Tony yelled over the music when he saw her taking small denomination bills from the register.

The girl stared at him with her hand hovering above the money tray. "You sure? The total doesn't even reach a hundred and thirty."

Tony shrugged. "Yeah, sure. Buy your girlfriend something nice." And then, like water leaking out of a high-pressure pipe with a hole, words gushed out of his mouth before going through his brain-to-mouth filter. "So, since it was a nix on your number, can you tell me where to find Luke?"

She looked surprised and a little sad. "Oh, did you know him? I'm so sorry."

Tony just started at her and gestured with his hand for her to continue.

Looking distraught, she finally answered, "He died like three months ago. House fire," she shrugged, "sorry. His ex, Jimbo, is the bouncer, he can probably tell you more."

Also, she was busy as hell and he was holding up the line, staying there as his world fell apart like so much shattered glass. He shook himself from his trance. "Right, sorry, thanks for the daiquiris, have a nice life, don't forget to be awesome," he babbled, still reeling from the news.

He and Steve somehow managed to navigate the crowd surrounding the counter until they reached a less densely populated area.

"You are pale," Steve told him as soon as he could make himself heard without shouting, "do you need a moment? I can take the drinks to the table if you want."

Tony was about to say no, but then he thought it better and handed the tray to him so quickly that the liquid sloshed and spilled a couple droplets. "Yes," he said simply, grabbing a glass and taking a big gulp. He seemed lost.

"Did you know him well?" Steve, the  _asshole_  asked, using his best I'm-Captain-America-I'm-so-wholesome-and-so-compassionate tone of voice.

Tony felt like throwing the daiquiri in his face and ruining his nice shirt.

How to answer that? He couldn't tell Steve Luke had been a one-night-stand Tony had taken a liking to. He couldn't tell how Luke had completely undone him—wrecked him, really; ruined him for men that weren't him—and had kindly offered him breakfast the next morning, as if they were  _friends_. He couldn't tell Steve that he had been fighting down the urge to come to this same bar and find Luke and beg him for a second round, and maybe spend a month with him in Malibu.

"No," he said at last, after another gulp of... kiwi? Yes, kiwi daiquiri. The green reminded him of Luke's eyes—his _real_ eyes, the gorgeous pair he'd hidden behind boring blue contacts—but the color was off. He wanted to throw the drink against a wall.  _Fuck._ "No, I didn't. Just met him the once, really. I don't know why I'm so..." He swallowed around the lump in his throat. "Excuse me," he said, putting the unfinished drink back on the tray and turning to leave.

Steve wanted to reach for him, but both his hands were occupied. "Phone me if you need..." he yelled and trailed off, not knowing how to finish the sentence. He saw Tony waving at him dismissively over his shoulder as he walked away, and cursed. But he went back to the guy's table, respecting Tony's wishes to be alone.

* * *

Only, Tony didn't want to be alone. Well, okay, so he did, but what he actually wanted was to talk to Jimbo—' _Luke called him 'Jimmy', so affectionately_ ,' Tony remembered—so he was marching up to the entrance.

The bouncer on duty—Tony wondered if they had shifts, or it was a more informal thing. "Your turn to kick that drunk out, I got the last one," and such— was not Luke's ex, though he resembled him a lot. They must take the same steroids.

"Say, where can I find Jimbo?" Tony asked.

Bouncer guy was a man of few words, and for all answer he pointed outside and said, "Smoking."

Tony nodded sagely and thanked the mountain of muscle, then stepped outside and looked for the other one. He found him easily enough, sitting on a bench that some thoughtful person—probably Luke himself, he  _had_  been the owner after all—had put close enough to the door to make it clear where it belonged but far enough to get privacy from people waiting in line or coming out of the club.

"This sit taken?" he asked and sat anyway, before the dude could answer. Well, going by his prehistoric look, it could take a while before his pea-sized brain processed the request. ' _No, I'm not biased against him, why do you ask?_ ' he thought to himself.

"Wha' do ya want?" the pile of muscle asked churlishly.

Tony debated whether to beat around the bush or not. Ah, what the hell. "I came here hoping to find Luke. Imagine my surprise when the bartender tells me he's dead."

The guy, against all predictions, snorted. "Not the first one to ask, you," he laughed, and took a drag from his cigarette. It looked tiny and dainty in his huge, hulking hands, like it could break at any moment. He could see now why Luke had laughed when Tony had asked if Jimmy was a bartender too—no glasses would survive the night. "What are you? Narcotics? Fed?" his words came out as smoke.

Tony regarded Jimmy curiously, not knowing how to answer that, or why it had even been asked. "None of them." The guy raised an eyebrow and raised a brow expectantly, though Tony was kinda surprised he had enough fine motor skills to manage that. "I kinda slept with him, and wanted to again," he shrugged. "No big deal."

A knowing, understanding expression came onto Jimbo's face, and his eyes lost a bit of focus. "Ah, I see," he breathed, smiling slightly. but said nothing else.

Tony batted away the smell of smoke, coughing slightly. Home-made fags, huh? Who would have thought? "What, that's it? No jealous rage?" he asked skeptically.

Laughing heartily now, Jimbo tossed the cigarette butt on the cement floor and stepped on it. "Knew it was gonna end from the start," he shrugged. "I mean, a guy like  _him_ ," he paused, smiling sadly, "with some deadbeat low-class thug like me? Nah."

Tony blinked, looking away. Okay, he had  _so_  not been prepared to talk feelings.

But Luke's ex continued regardless. "Knew he was with me to get the bar, and yet he still stayed with me for months after my uncle gave it to him." He hummed, remembering. "No one thought he was gonna stay with me. We even got an apartment together."

Yeah, Tony had been to it. Blunt as always, he told Jimmy exactly that, and added admiringly, "The shower glass door? Must be industrial strength or something. Solid thing."

Jimmy blushed, of all things, bright enough for Tony to see despite the closest lights being the half-light that came from the open door and the advertising lights flashing above them. Wow, must be some good memories. Maybe Jimbo wasn't as bad as Tony had thought—he may be a blundering brute, but he had been  _Luke's_  blundering brute, and Luke wouldn't have chosen a half-wit with no redeeming qualities.

"Good memories, huh?" Tony chuckled, still sad but less so now.

The guy nodded, smiling.

"Me too, me too," Tony answered.

They watched the cars drive by in silence for a while, in a strangely comfortable silence.

And then Tony ruined it. "So, why did you think I was with the police?"

Jimmy told him how Luke had come from  _nowhere_  and taken the world by storm, becoming well-known and respected in a mere three months. He told Tony about Luke's trouble with authority and his inability to grasp laws he didn't agree with and bend them to his will anyway. He told him about Luke's strange but strict moral code that no one ever understood, aside from a couple rules here and there— _No children_  being one of them, and  _No violence if you can manage, otherwise it's not as fun_ — and about his otherworldly ability to talk his way out of things or talk anyone into anything, an ability that made him especially sought-after by the mafia—like his family, he confided—and ensured he would get taken care of. He told him about the police catching wind of the deals Luke had conducted in his uncle's bar, officially Luke's, and had started sniffing around and "requesting his cooperation" —yes, he even gave that air quotes—and about how Luke had given them the bare minimum, and used them to take out his rivals to boot.

Tony listened, enthralled, discovering Luke anew, making the appropriate Oohs and Aahs at all the right points naturally. It was a pity Luke had died — Tony though he would have liked to stick around, get to know him better. He was such an interesting man. But now he was dead.

And then, Jimmy dropped the bomb: "...From what he told my uncle, someone from his old life popped up and saw him, so he had to disappear."

That startled Tony. " _Disappear?_ " he yelped, his heart suddenly drumming a bas-relief into the metal wall of the arc reactor.

Jimmy looked at him slyly, a look that was completely incongruous with his whole face and body. "Yeah. He's not really dead, just up in the wind."

"Where?" Tony managed, eyes wide, looking soulfully at the man next to him. He would get down on his knees if the man wanted him to, if only to get him to answer the damn question.

"No idea, He just up and left," Jimmy shrugged, lighting another cigarette. "My uncle said he initially went to Illinois, somewhere in there, but he could be anywhere by now." He took a drag and looked at Tony speculatively, trying to discern whether he was worthy of the knowledge. He exhaled. "My bet is out of the country—that's how he ended up here, by the way, from what he told me. Said he was running from law enforcement in Norway or something…"

Tony's phone buzzed. Text from Steve: ' _Are you okay?'_

He looked at Jimbo—Jimmy—James? and explained, "My friends are looking for me. Better go inside." He averted his eyes, not sure how to show his gratitude. He would hug the man, but Jimmy could probably crush him in one hand.

"Thank you," he said instead, holding out his hand for him to shake.

"No problem," Jimmy answered, standing up, and shook his hand.

It must have looked hilarious, to anyone looking at them: a massive man, with his massive hand, shaking hands with someone as compact as Tony, and comparably tiny.

Tony smiled at him genuinely, and the man returned it, showing off his crooked, nicotine-stained teeth.

Then Tony said his goodbyes and went back inside to reassure Steve and try to have fun, resigned not to see Luke ever again.


End file.
